From Here to Eternity
by Mason Frey
Summary: Post season seven, tying up the Gilmore loose ends. A death, a pregnancy, pop references out the wazoo.
1. Chapter One: Everything is Illuminated

Rory didn't look right on a train. Her surroundings were metal, and harsh, even the squeal of the tracks sounded awful compared to her voice. Everybody else on the train was wearing black, wearing gray, wearing every other maudlin color that existed. Rory was like a doll, a sweet-faced doll with pink lips and a light blue t-shirt that stuck out furiously among the worker bees.

The butterflies in her stomach had risen to her chest, their wings beating against her ribs. It was an undeniably unnerving moment, her head light with the anticipation of ... whatever was to come. Barack Obama, online journalism. God, just the words had set off a mental domino chain that started in nervous and ended in frantic.

The preperation that had seemed ridiculous previously was becoming more and more justified, the extra sweaters, tooth paste, the extra deoderant: all of it was necessary and becoming even more so.

Back in Stars Hollow, Lorelai was no less scared than Rory was. Where was she? How was she doing? Was she OK? Lorelai laid in bed, nested under the covers. _A Star Is Born, _Judy this time, blared throughout the house. She didn't even need to be around the TV in order to be able to visualize Mrs. Garland belting out "Here's What I'm Here For."

The phone rang, although it was hardly audible under _My heart insisted, I seek you out ..., _and Lorelai's scrawny arm picked it up. "Hello?" She said, her voice croaky and shallow.

"Lorelai?" Luke. Luke's rich, smooth, heavy voice spilling through the line. However groggy and unavailable she had been, she was now attentive, and quickly jogging downstairs to extinguish Judy.

"Luke?"

"Yeah, what's going on over there?"

"Nothing. A _Star _is being _Born."_

"Someone's having a baby?"

"Judy Garland is." Lorelai's voice was thick with sarcasm as _Can you forgive me? ... _was suddenly silent. "Luke, okay, I'm here now."

"So, what are you doing?"

"Hanging with Hootie and the Blowfish, you?"

"I think we need to, y'know, talk." He was anxious, and she could hear him squirm under the pressure of her answer. She could even hear his relief through the telephone lines at her sweet "Yes. Ten minutes?"

Lorelai hung up, and ran back upstairs, throwing her hands into what she believed to be a tangled mess of uncut black hair. She pulled it back down, a greasy crown teased up around her scalp. She peeled off her "Juicy" sweats, and her ratty _Police _t-shirt. What would look intelligent, she thought, without looking not sexy without looking prude? It was a heinous process, one she was soon to be excited to repeat.

All of her worries had vanished at the sight of Luke's scruffy, kind face, his pearly smile. She had finally ended up wearing a black sweater, one of her favorite's, and a pair of jeans. She had almost ended up wearing her "chandelier" dress, but decided against it.

"Lorelai." He laughed, and gestured upstairs, throwing his hands to the curtain that seperated his diner from his personal life. She followed him quickly, without any hesitation. When they got inside his apartment, recently repainted, and sat on the couch. It was awkward without being uncomfortable. "Lorelai. I ..."

"Thank you for the party." She said it with a shrug, and she flipped her hair to the side, remembering his comments on it's manipulatory abilities. "It was better than _Animal House, _I mean, y'know, minus Bluto and his 0.0 GPA." She spoke on, an endless spout of useless information ranging from a _Godfather _impression to her lucky find of a Strawberry, no-stick lip gloss. When it ended, Luke leaned over, and kissed her. It wasn't like a favor, or a family obligation. It was heavy, and emotional. Lorelai shivered, and Luke pulled away.

"Sorry, I ..." Luke started, looking down into his lap. Lorelai leaned into him, however ambivalent on the reunion she was.

Before anything else could happen, anything more, in came Kirk, wearing a Zorro mask. However surprised they should be, they weren't. "Oh, Luke," his gruff voice echoed through the wooden room. "Caesar is out of milk. He sent me up to get some more."

"Caesar, the dead one?"

"Like Julius?"


	2. Chapter Two: It's the End of the World

The moment with Luke didn't seem to end. It wasn't that Lorelai wanted it to, but their awkward and often unnecessary small talk was chewing up most of their fleeting time together. She wanted them to talk, really talk, but they just couldn't seem to settle down and have a heart-to-heart. It seemed like their kiss meant more than two desperate divorces making out in front of the local spoon, and of course their history was ... heavy, at least she hoped it meant more than that.

"Oh, crap." She spouted out, just as they seemed to find a niche. "Paul Anka, I forgot to let him out."

"Have Babette do it." He offered, but it was no use, Lorelai had grabbed her coat before he could get in another word. _I blew it, _he though to himself, _there she goes. _

Luke stewed in his apartment for a while, pacing, before he went out to find her. To find her. He had diddled away his time with her before, but this time he had a path, a focus, a light at the end of the tunnel.

Rory, on the other hand, did not have a path or a focus. She was staying at a hotel in Pittsburgh, which known for its cleanliness was no Stars Hollow. In Stars Hollow, a cigarette butt was hard to find, in Pittsburgh, a piece of pavement without a cigarette butt was the challenge. Soda cans, receipts, food wrappers paved the sidewalk.

The girl she was rooming with, Esmarelda, was already an enemy. She supposed the _Hunchback of Notre Dame _joke had been a little probing, but Ezie (as she preferred to be called) had taken it so personally. "Did you take my shampoo?" Ezie's shrill and unhappy voice rang out of the bathroom.

"What?" Rory said, sweetly. She was determined that Ezie would not hate her. She couldn't have another Paris Gellar on her hands.

"My Langella 'Strawberry Sensation' shampoo is missing. That was 32.95. Did you take it?" Ezie's chubby, olive-colored face poked out of the bathroom. She wasn't totally unfortunate. Strong, long black hair that curled down to midback. Her face was short and wide, a strong, square jaw, deep and intense blue eyes, and Frida Kahlo eyebrows.

"No, I didn't, do you want me to help you look?" Rory was trying so hard, and Ezie seemed deadset on despising her guts.

"It would be in my toiletry bag, unless someone snag it. You snag it? It's nice stuff." Ezie's face peeked out again, this time even more disgruntled.

"I did not snag anything from you, Esmeralda."

"Ezie. Call me Ezie." This wasn't a sweet correction, a harsh and demanding order.

14 hours into the trip, and Rory had already made an enemy. Super.

Lorelai stood at the Dragonfly desk, a disgruntled Michel sitting in the library, discussing scenic walks through Litchfield. "... home of the tick ..." Michel's voice was especially high today, as if he was purposely trying to make it sound like nails on a chalkboard.

The door swung open, a thud against the wall, and Luke. Luke was ferocious and unstoppable in getting to Lorelai, a B-line straight to her. "Lorelai. I'm in, again." He said, his voice a wonderful contrast to Michel's screech. "I am in this again." It came out quickly, and harshly. Lorelai's eyes fluttered, her smile wide.

"Luke, I ..."

"Lorelai ... I love you." Luke wasn't very good at putting his emotions on display, anger is one thing, but confessing his love in public was a horse of a different color.

"Oh, dear, is Butch here? Lucky us." This was Michel, chiming in with an audible grin.


	3. Chapter Three: As We Know It

Ezie had been even more on the outs with Rory after her Mongolian granola bars had gone missing, and she was more than convinced that Rory had much to do with their disappearence. Rory had even offered to buy her more, which even more convinced her that Rory had eaten them.

Rory had fallen into an uneasy sleep, she felt like driftwood being rocked in the large waves that kept sloshing onto shore. It was interrupted when the phone rang. Outside of emergencies, she had no idea what that omen meant.

"What?" Rory said, her voice weighed down and almost incoherent when covered in sleep.

"Rory. It's Jess." He's voice was tired, restless, and above all else urgent.

"Jess?" She was confused, what was his business here? "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Is Luke okay?" Rory was digging so hard, but it was fruitless.

"Yeah.

"My Mom's okay? I don't know why I'd hear it from you, but ..." Rory voice trails off into nowehere. Why was Jess calling her?

"Yeah, she's fine, as far as I know." Jess was beating around a bush, a paticularily large one at that. He had something to say, it was something in his voice. His words were barbed with a hidden purpose, a pretext that was taking its time revealing itself.

"What is it, Jess? It's like two in the morning." Frustration was being pushed into her words.

"Sorry if I woke you."

"What is it?"

"Rory, I ..."

"What?"

"I love you." Rory slouched back in bed. What kind of omen was this? Jess calling her at two to proclaim his love for her. That was extravagant, and as Rory realized: not far from something out of a David Lynch film. Rory breathed for a while. This was the second time he had done this, and she was waiting for the humiliated _click _of the phone, but it was never delivered. "Are you still there, Rory? I don't mean to spring it on you ... again, but I heard about you and the blonde guy."

"Logan?" Just saying his name was like a death sentence. "Did you think you were going to swoop in? Just take his place?" Rory let furiousity flood in her twisted sentences. "What the hell is this, Jess? What do you want?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." He was tired and scared at her unexpected unhappiness.

"Well, I'm fine, Jess. I'm fine." Rory slammed the phone down, and pushed her face into her hands.

"Jesus Christ." This was Ezie, rolling over and throwing daggers through her eyes. "Susan Mayer, it's two in the morning. What ... the ... hell?"

Lorelai was laying in bed also, experiencing the same divet of confusion Rory was. Luke had told her he loved her. It sounded sincere, or so she thought.

The only thing holding her down from requiting his love was their history baggage. It was unhappy and frustrating and fruitless. The worst part was when she presented his ultimatum _now or never, _he hadn't done it. He hadn't jumped. _I can't just jump like this. _

Well, neither could she. She couldn't just jump like this, unless it was insured. Unless it couldn't be prolonged. She put on her slippers and ran. She ran to Luke's so quickly, with so vigor it reminded her why she never ran.

"Luke!" She yelled, plucking the key from above the door, and entering his diner. Luke was already on his way downstairs, stumbling. "Luke!"

"Lorelai, what ...?" Lorelai peered at his scrunched up, confused face although there was a tinting of excitement.

"Luke, now. Forget history, live in tomorrow. Now is the time."


	4. Chapter Four: Spring Awakening

"Lorelai, are you ... ?" Luke was overwhelmed with relief. "Nevermind, I'll let this one go." Luke's smile wasn't at all reluctant or obligatation-based, just a quarter of a watermelon doused in happiness.

"What now?" Proposal redux. Her eyes glistened, just like they had before. Luke approached her cautiously, tiptoeing to his future.

"What do you mean 'what now?'". He asked for clarification.

"An order of onion rings." She said, with a smile that matched his. "What do we do now? We've both pulled a _Notebook, _and now we're just here. Two people. An amount of baggage that moving trucks say 'No, that's just to much' to. History the Gettysburg looks like Minney Mouse to." She peered into his eyes, and it was almost like she was looking into him. Into his happiness, into his sorrow. It was chilling, and a little bit too Edgar Allen Poe for her. "Do we ... date?" Lorelai asked, looking down at her feet.

"Elope?"

"Start a band with you, me, and Chrizzy Cole and name ourselves the _Jolly Llamas_?" Lorelai smiled, and Luke reciprocated. Again. "I don't really know the procedure." She admitted.

"Either do I. It's ... new." He laughed.

Back in Pittsburgh, Rory stood in a sea of reporters, of varying genders, heights, age, and apparently body odors. Reporting was nothing like Rory thought it would be, it was better. The stench (akin to onions and old socks) wafted in the air, and even that couldn't fumegate Rory's euphoria.

Obama stood at the head of the group, behind a mahoghany podium. He would point to reporters, they would regurgitate run-of-the-mill questions, he would answer something prepared (Rory didn't get much from _Chicago, _but she did remember the pre-press conference Billy and Roxie rendezvous), and the cycle would repeat itself. Rinse, lather, repeat.

She was timid to ask a question, even if they were encouraged to. She could be less than five feet away from the future president. Then, she remembered Mitchum calling her too timid. Too quiet. A great assistant. Jerk. Rory's hand shot up in the air, a tiny white palm floating in a sea of leather phallanges. "Yes, you, in the white." His chocolate voice oozed off the podium into Rory's ears, and she was dumbfounded.

"Oh, er, what is your health care ... plan?" Rory's question, however jumbled, was coherent and legitimate. He laughed slightly, and answered slowly as Rory took furious notes. She could get used to this. Even the smell.

Several hours later, Rory sat in her bed, Ezie out for drinks. She picked up her phone, and dialed back home. Back to where her heart was, but her mind wasn't. "Hello?" Just hearing her mom's voice was calming.

"Mom! It's me!" She almost yelled, so euphoric about her Obama notes, and just everything. It was so perfe

"Hey, kid, how's Atlanta?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm in Pittsburgh." Rory said with a smile. "So, how are you?"

"Well, Luke and I are --" Lorelai said this slowly, deliberate in her suspense.

"Oh, my God! Yay! I knew you would figure it out, I just knew it!" Rory yelled, it seemed like nothing could go wrong today.

A pound on the door contradicted her current thoughts, including an irritated, possibly drunk voice booming out of Jess: "Rory, I need to talk to you!"


	5. Chapter Five: American Beauty

"Rory, I need to talk to you!" Jess repeated, as the words rolled off his tongue like cascading water. All of his words were muddled, doused with uselessness and bad ideas.

"Jess?" She replied cautiously, her voice sounding like _Bambi_'s next to his Sylvester Stallone. She approached the door at a tip toe, and peered out the peephole in the door. She was careful, everything she touched, her hands were dainty. Jess looked a mess. His hair was rippled up unintentionally, a crown of greasy black bordering his scalp. Giant brown bags swooped under his deep, angry eyes.

"Rory, I really really need to talk to you." His voice was desperate and solemn, like a dear in the headlights. "Open the door." As he said this his voice cracked, and brief spasms of humiliation and emotion were pulsating through the door. This was so un-Jess of him, Rory thought quietly, he was spontaneous, sure, but his emotions weren't often involved.

"What do you want?" Brief, and irrational flashbacks shone brightly in her head, of his plans, of what could of been, of the phone call.

"I want to talk to you."

"Well, talk." She said, her hand resting firmly on the door. On the other side of the door, the view was quite different. Jess's vision was blurring, and muddled, as if he were looking at his relfection in a puddle of water and someone inconsiderate had stomped on it. Rory was frustrating, and unreadable through a wooden door. Her eyes gave her away.

"Rory, please." He swung his head down, staring at his feet. This wasn't far from what had happened four years ago, when he had shown up at her dorm room at Yale.

Rory's door swung open, and a bashful Rory stood in front of a standard-looking hotel room. "What is it, Jess?" She hissed. Jess surveyed her surroundings and found them unfit for such a great person. Cheap sheets, cheap lamp, cheap sweatpants, cheap life.

"What is this, Rory?" He said quietly.

"What? You came all the way out from nowhere to bombard me with stuff about my life? Are you really passing judgement on _me?! _Well, butt out, Jess, it's too James Spader." She yells this into his face, as if her words were daggers plunging deeper and deeper into Jess.

Jess was a cold person, and he won't deny that. His emotional uprising wasn't as fierce as it should've been, and he had learned that love was pesky, and frustration was a burden, and happiness was a tool. He had learned that being emotional was being a coward. He felt like a dog with it's tail between his legs. Never had he been so ashamed. He was sure his friend Jack Daniels had played more than a key role in this story. "I'm sorry." He said, abashed.

Rory stepped back for a moment. Never had she expected him to admit defeat.

"I'm sorry about the phone call too." He swung his head, so he was staring at his Converse. He began to slowly walk away, limping, like half a man.

Rory poked her head out of the door, and watched as what used to be Jess crawled down the hallway in utter shame.

Lorelai laid strewn across Luke's flannel sheets, wearing one of his old t-shirts. She missed moments like this, of pure comfort. She felt relaxed and at home. Luke was downstairs, making her coffee. Her cell phone rang furiously on Luke's nightstand, and she pried it open. "Hello?"

"It's me." Said Rory's dainty, emotional voice.

"Sweetie, what happened?" Lorelai was concerned, and her ears perked up.

"Jess showed up."

"What? Why?" Lorelai's concern was like waves. Was Jess as bad as disaster? Were they the ssame thing?

"He just showed up at my door, drunk. It was all so ... muddled, he didn't say much, then I yelled at him, and he said sorry, and left." Rory whispers this into the receiver.

"What was he apologizing for?" Lorelai asked.

"I don't know. The other day he called me, and said he loved me."

"Woah. Woah. He did what?!" Lorelai had never felt more disconnected with Rory, not that they weren't the same people, but the circumstances were so furiously different. It had been a month since she had even seen Rory. The void wasn't filled with fruitless phone calls. She wanted more than anything to see Rory's face. She realized these thoughts sounded desperate, incestual, and even psychotic, especially because she wasn't sure if Rory missed her the way Lorelai missed her.

"He called me, after he found out I broke up with 'the blonde guy', and the phone call reeked of, can I just swoop in and take his place?" She was letting this out, and it felt better, but still unsure. Rory's frustration fumed through the wires.

Luke slung back up stairs, his feet heavy on the creaky wood. He reappeared the same smashing smile painted onto his face. He held a plain, white mug in his hands that was filled with what appeared to be molasses, but on second look, was just coffee. Lorelai clutched the mug, and downed the coffee, the fire of caffiene burning in her guts.

"I have to go. Ezie's home." Rory said deliberately, and speedily hung up. Despite her newfound romantic comfort, Lorelai was still disconnected.


End file.
